A rose slowly wilts on someones table,
Lonely, and forgotten.
The once vibrant color,
Now a dull maroon.
Without a will to live,
Each petal drops slowly to the floor.
Though making sure to be one at a time.
As if in hopes of revitalization!
Someone will see it,
Perhaps press it in a book,
Forever locked in beauty.
Yet not one person notices,
And with the last petal fall a sigh lets loose.
For nothing more is holding it here,
It shall remain a forgotten memory.
Author notes
Written August 28th, 2004
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sorrow stems from such words, and thorns to prick ones heart,
the scent of yesterdays beauty assails the nose, and the petals become tiny squiggles of satin crushed like cinderellas slipper by ill-fitting remorse. ~~~Great poem~~~Artis -
aww this was a really sweet yet painful poem. I really liked the imagery and the way you told the story of the forgotten rose my favorite line was
And with the last petal fall a sigh lets loose.
For nothing more is holding it here,
It shall remain a forgotten memory.
Great Poem!
~I.M -
I love the wilting rose metaphor! I use it in one of my poems too. I actually fool around with the idea of dried roses and memories a lot...you know the whole dried rose from prom thing : ) Anways, good work.
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Beautifully written metaphor and imagery. I really enjoyed this. I also really like the irony in the last line of a "forgotten memory." Good job.
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